


(Two chapters from) Another Story

by FireOpal (Sandel)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Community: HPFT, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandel/pseuds/FireOpal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Chapter six and seven from the first book in an alternate Harry Potter series has traveled through the dimensions and ended up in our world. In this version of the story Voldemort was defeated by the Order of the Phoenix when Harry was a toddler, and here we get to follow Harry, Neville, Ron and Hermione on the train to Hogwarts and at the start-of-term feast.</p>
  <p>---</p>
  <p>Written for Dirigible_Plums' <span class="u">AU Challenge</span> <i>and</i> ANightingaleInAGoldenCage's <span class="u">Sorting Hat Challenge</span> at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Forums.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter Six: The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>  Banner by at Lauralei The Dark Arts forum.

On the first of September, Harry woke with a ball of mingled excitement and nervousness in the pit of his stomach. He glanced at his alarm clock, snoring softly on his nightstand. Seven minutes past five. Harry groaned. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so he got up and pulled on a pair of Muggle jeans. His parents had decided to take the car to London, so he’d have to wait to put on his robes until he was on the Hogwarts Express. The thought of robes reminded him of the wonderful gift that his father had given to him the night before, and he anxiously went over to look in his trunk. The Cloak of Invisibility was still there.

Relieved of that small worry, but still more generally anxious, Harry began to pace his room. Reinhild’s eyes followed him from her cage, and when he passed closed to her she gave a reproachful hoot. The owl wanted to be out hunting, not stuck in a cage that was, frankly, quite a bit too small for her.

“It’s just until we get to Hogwarts,” Harry told her. “Once we’re there you’ll get to live with hundreds of other owls in the Owlery, and fly freely every night.”

Reinhild’s only reply was to pitifully click her beak against the bars of the cage. Harry guiltily gave her a few owl treats. Then, for want of anything better to do, he snuck out of his room and tip-toed down to the kitchen.

* * *

When Harry’s mother came stumbling into the room an hour later, still half asleep, she found him seated at the table, snacking on his would-be lunch pack.

“Oh _Harry_ ,” Lily said. “That was supposed to keep you fed until the feast tonight.”

“Dad says it’s more fun to just stuff oneself with candy from the trolley on the train,” Harry replied, with an attempt at an apologetic shrug.

“Your dad says a lot of things that he’d be better off keeping to himself,” Lily muttered, but she didn’t press the matter further.

“Is dad up yet, by the way?” asked Harry.

“Yeah, he’s waking your sister. Or possibly falling back asleep himself. This is a ridiculously early hour to be awake. I wish we could just Floo to King’s Cross…”

At that, Harry tuned out. His mother had complained about the lack of magical access to the train station for half the summer by now. The Potters didn’t believe in taking their children Side-Along Apparating, so the lack of fireplaces at the magical platforms meant that they had to take their Muggle car all the way up from Godric’s Hollow. If Harry had had his way, however, they would have simply flown to King’s Cross on their brooms. He _loved_ flying, and was going to miss his Nimbus 1700 sorely for his first year at Hogwarts.

“…I mean, what about the students who live closer to Hogwarts than London?” Lily concluded. “By the way, darling, can you help me make breakfast?” she added.

Harry did, and the Potters had a surprisingly pleasant breakfast together, considering how tired they all were. Harry teared up a little thinking about how he wouldn’t sit at this table with his parents and sister again until the Christmas holidays.

* * *

Four hours later found the four Potters (and their car) at King’s Cross station. As they walked across the station the Muggles gave Reinhild some funny looks, but Harry was so used to people staring at his family that he hardly noticed.

“Well, here we are,” said James suddenly. “Platform nine, platform ten. Do you remember how to get into 9 3/4, kids?”

“You run into the ticket barrier!” Marlene yelled out, clearly pleased with both herself and the prospect.

Harry’s mouth went dry. Passing through seemingly solid objects always made him feel a bit queasy, and the ticket barrier looked _very_ solid. James was too busy hushing Marlene to notice Harry going pale, but Lily only had to throw one glance at her son to know exactly what was up. She was always like that.

“You two go first,” she said to James and Marlene.

They did, and just a moment later they were gone, nowhere to be seen. It looked so easy – it was easy! – and yet… Harry swallowed. Lily crouched down so her head was a little below his. Looking into his mother’s eyes was like looking into a mirror.

“Are you all right?” she asked, with the warm smile that Harry had loved for as long he could remember.

Harry nodded. With his mother beside him he could do anything. Lily pushed the trolley with the trunk, Harry half a step behind her, hugging Reinhild’s cage in his arms. As they neared the barrier he closed his eyes.

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes again he was looking at a scarlet train belching out steam over a platform filled with people, cats, owls… It was _amazing_. Harry had never before seen so much magical folk at the same place. And most of them were actually too busy to even notice that the famous Potter family had arrived at the platform!

His fear of passing the barrier already forgotten, Harry started looking for his best friend. As he did he passed his father and Marlene. Harry's sister was jumping up and down, tugging at James’ sleeve, pointing at everything and anything. Harry laughed at her, but before he could stop to say something he caught sight of a familiar round face behind her.

“Neville!” he yelled out, and Neville started to wave at him.

“Hi, Harry,” he said, when Harry came up to him.

“Hello, Nev. Hello, Mr and Mrs Longbottom!”

Frank and Alice Longbottom each gave Harry a hug. Then Harry’s parents and sister caught up with them, and the seven of them chatted for a while about Hogwarts, the Sorting, and what classes Harry and Neville most looked forward to taking – Herbology for Neville, Defence against the Dark Arts for Harry (and Potions for Marlene, who claimed that she’d sneak on the train and become the youngest Gryffindor in Hogwarts History). Then Neville said,

“Oh, no, I think I’ve lost Trevor again.”

“Oh, _Neville_ ,” Mrs Longbottom sighed.

“Er, I’ll hold a seat for you on the train,” Harry said hurriedly.

He really didn’t feel like going around Platform 9 3/4 looking for a missing toad, even if it belonged to his best friend. _No one_ wanted a toad anymore, but Neville had somehow fallen in love with the one he’d gotten as gift from his weird great-uncle Algie, and refused to let his parents buy him an owl to bring to Hogwarts instead. So Neville and his parents disappeared into the crowd on the platform to look for Trevor, while James and Lily carried the two boys’ trunks onto the Hogwarts Express and into an empty compartment.

Suddenly the fact that he was leaving became very real to Harry. Wordlessly he hugged his parents as hard as he could, and they seemed to understand, because they hugged back just as hard. When they finally let go Harry turned towards Marlene to promise to write to her every day, but she wasn’t there. Apparently she had made good on her promise to sneak off to hide on the train.

“ _Oh no_ ,” said Lily.

“Hopeless child,” James muttered, with a huge grin on his face. “Well, we better go off to find her. Will you be all right, Harry?”

Harry nodded. It might actually not be so bad to have a few minutes to himself. The whole ‘leaving’ thing was hitting him harder than he had expected.

* * *

When Harry heard a rap on the window some time later, he quickly dried his eyes and looked out. The first thing he saw was Marlene, looking quite petulant. She was holding hands with James – or rather, he was holding her hand, clearly to keep her from running off again. Harry stifled a snigger and pushed the window open.

“Er, have you seen Neville?” he asked his parents.

They shook their heads.

“But I’m sure he’ll show up soon,” Lily said. “Frank and Alice wouldn’t let him miss the train.”

Just as she spoke, Mr and Mrs Longbottom showed up behind her. Between them Neville was holding Trevor quite as firmly as James was holding Marlene. The poor toad’s eyes bulged slightly outward.

“All right, love, get on the train, now,” Mrs Longbottom said, hugging her son.

Neville couldn’t hug her back because of holding Trevor, but he kissed her on both cheeks, and then did the same to his father. Then a whistle sounded, and Neville struggled out of Mr Longbottom’s grip. As he clambered onto the train, Harry hung out the window to hug his own parents goodbye one last time. Lily smoothed his hair down as much as possible, and had her work immediately undone by James ruffling it up again. Harry and Marlene shared one last laugh together as their parents glared at each other.

Then the train started rolling. Marlene began to run after it, laughing and yelling, until she _crashed_ into a red-headed girl who was doing the exact same thing. The two girls fell down into a tangle of limbs, most of them still waving. Laughing, Harry stuck his head out the window to see what would happen next, but the train soon rounded a corner, and the platform went out of sight.

* * *

As Harry extracted himself from the window, Neville came into the compartment, his toad still in the same iron grip. But the compartment door barely had time to slide shut before it opened again, revealing a very freckly boy with the same flaming red hair as the girl Marlene had collided with. In his surprise at the door flying open behind him, Neville jumped into the air and let go of Trevor. The toad immediately took his chance for renewed freedom, and began crawl towards the open door. Neville dove down after his pet, and caught him just as he made to leap through the gap in the door.

The red-headed boy looked on in confusion and slight alarm. Harry noticed that he had a large speck of dirt on his nose.

“Er, oops,” the boy said. Then he seemed to collect himself a little. “I mean, hi. Are all these seats taken?”

Just as the boy finished speaking, Neville came back up from the floor, Trevor clasped in one hand. He extended his other hand to the boy.

“No, you’re welcome to sit here. I’m Neville Longbottom,” Neville said, pumping the red-head’s hand up and down.

“Longbottom?” the boy said. “As in, you know…”

“Frank and Alice Longbottom? Yeah, they’re my mum and dad,” Neville said. “And this over here is Harry Potter.”

“As in Lily and James Potter, yes,” Harry finished, before the boy had time to ask. He’d never liked this part of meeting new people.

“Oh, _wow_ ,” the boy said. “Really?”

Harry nodded, and Neville sat down beside him. The freckly boy stared at them for a moment, mouth half agape.

“I mean,” he went on, collecting himself, “it’s not that I don’t believe you – you _do_ look a lot like James Potter…”

“And he has Lily Potter’s eyes,” Neville added good-naturedly, before the other boy had time to say just that. He knew how much Harry disliked it when people compared him to his parents.

“You haven’t told us _your_ name yet,” Harry pointed out, eager to change the subject. “Though if I had to guess I’d say your surname’s probably Weasley…”

The Weasley family was well known for their red hair and freckles (and for having more children than most other pureblood families combined). Almost all Weasleys were in Gryffindor, so Harry suspected that he and Neville would get to see a lot more of this boy in the coming seven years.

The boy coloured slightly when he heard Harry’s guess.

“Well, yeah,” he said gloomily.

Something in his reluctant acknowledgment reminded Harry of how he himself had felt just a moment ago, when the boy compared him to his dad.

“I’m Ron,” the boy continued. “Ron Weasley.”

“Nice to meet you,” Neville said, with his friendly smile. “And you’ve already sort of met him, but this is Trevor.”

Neville waved his hand holding the toad vaguely in Ron’s direction. Ron shied back a little.

“And this is Reinhild,” Harry added, nodding towards the cage in which his owl was sleeping. “So, Ron, have you brought a pet?”

Ron coloured again.

“No,” he said. “My brother Percy promised me he’d give me his old rat – Mum and Dad gave him an owl when he became Prefect – but he died earlier this summer. Er, the rat, that is, not my brother.”

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Neville, sounding truly saddened.

“Yeah, bummer,” Harry agreed.

After that the three of them sat in silence for a while, looking out at the quickly passing houses outside the train window, which soon begin to give way to rolling fields filled with sheep and cows.

* * *

Looking out the window got boring after a while, though, so Harry suggested playing a game of Exploding Snap to Neville. Always considerate, Neville extended the offer to Ron, who, instead of replying, blurted out,

“Have your parents ever told you about how they defeated Voldemort?”

Harry and Neville looked at each other.

“Not in detail,” Neville replied at last.

“We know what everybody knows, of course,” Harry added. “There was a prophecy, Mr Snape realised it could refer to my Mum – who he’d been friends with when they were kids – he decided to help the Order of the Phoenix even though he’d been a Death Eater, they used my and Neville’s parents to set a trap, there was a huge fight, we won, yadda, yadda…”

“Are they friends now?” asked Ron.

Harry gave him a blank look. That was not the question he’d been expecting.

“Your Mum and Mr Snape, I mean,” Ron clarified.

“Er… sort of,” Harry replied. “They have tea every now and then, and they write each other about Potions all the time. I’ve only met him a few times. He’s pretty weird, and his hair is always dirty. You’d think someone as good as Potions as him would be able to cook something up to deal with that, but…”

“Oh no!” Neville interrupted.

“What is it, Nev?”

“Trevor’s gone again!”

“Oh, _come on_. You need to learn some magic to keep that toad from escaping the first thing you do at Hogwarts,” Harry muttered.

“Well, right now what I need to do is find him.”

Harry quickly racked his brains to think of an excuse so he wouldn’t have to go toad hunting. A glance at his wrist watch gave him the opportunity he needed.

“Well, it looks like the lunch trolley will come by any minute now, I’ll buy you something so you don’t have to worry about food while you’re looking for Trevor.”

“Yeah, sure,” Neville replied. “Thanks.”

He probably suspected Harry’s true motive behind the offer, but was too nice to say anything about it. Too nice for his own good, Harry often said. But right now Harry was happy that he got to stay in the compartment while Neville went out the door to look for his stupid toad all along the train.

* * *

Sure enough, only a few minutes later a cheerful witch peeked her head into the compartment to ask if they wanted to buy anything from the lunch trolley. Ron shook his head, indicating a lumpy package that he’d just taken out of his trunk. Remembering his father’s words about stuffing oneself with candy rather than bringing one’s own lunch, Harry made sure to buy enough sweets not just for himself and Neville, but for Ron as well. He tipped it all out over the compartment table.

“Take whatever you want,” he told Ron.

“I can’t –” Ron began to protest, red in the face.

“Yes, you can. I’ve already bought more than me and Nev can eat, so you might as well join in.”

“All right, then.”

Hesitantly Ron grabbed a Cauldron Cake. Harry, for his part, dove into the Pumpkin Pasties. A quite awkward silence stretched out between the two of them as they ate, and Harry realised he’d have to do something drastic to save this budding friendship.

“So, what’s your team?” he asked, knowing that almost no young wizard (or witch, for that matter) could say no to discussing Quidditch.

And sure enough, Ron broke out into a wide grin.

“Chudley Cannons! Did you hear we only lost by twenty points our last match?” he ejaculated.

“Er… congrats?”

“Yeah, um… thanks. Well, what’s yours?”

“The Falmouth Falcons! We’ve won our last three matches…”

“Good for you.” Ron sounded sullen.

“Do you play?” Harry asked, hoping to get the conversation away from their respective teams’ merits.

“Yeah, we all do – I mean, all my brothers and I. My sister doesn’t. Both Fred and George are on the Gryffindor team now, and Charlie was…”

“Charlie Weasley’s your brother?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Of course! He was Gryffindor’s star Seeker before he left Hogwarts a year early to do something with dragons, right? It’s a shame, I’d been looking forward to see him play…”

“Right.”

Now Ron sounded quite gloomy _again_ , and Harry sensed it was time for another subject change. This time he went for something that was sure to be at the top of the minds of all first years-to-be: learning magic. It worked; for a while they chatted amiably about what they most looked forwards to learning – Ron, like Harry, looked forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts most. But Ron thought his second favourite would be Charms, while Harry, like his sister, quite looked forward to Potions, which Ron didn’t seem to care for much at all. At least they could both agree that History of Magic seemed the most boring, and Transfiguration the hardest.

“Have you tried anything yet?” Ron asked.

“Mum lets me help measure out ingredients and stuff for her potions. And, well… Dad’s actually taught me a few small spells,” Harry admitted, not without a certain smugness. “Just little things, turning a pine needle into an actual needle and suchlike. Mum doesn’t know about it.”

He decided not to mention the fiasco with the tickling jinx.

“Oh, cool!” Ron replied. “My parents would _never_ – but my brother George told me about this one spell that he says should change the meat on my sandwiches. I’m not sure it’s real, though…”

“Why don’t you try it?” Harry asked, eager to see such complicated magic.

Ron localised the lumpy package Harry had seen before under a pile of candy wrappers and took out a rather dry-looking corned beef sandwich. Then he lifted his wand – which looked more than a little worn at the edges, Harry thought. Just as he did, the door slid open again; Neville had returned, and he wasn’t alone. He had gotten hold of Trevor again, for one thing, but he’d also brought a girl with him.

“This is Hermione Granger,” Neville said. “She helped me find Trevor!”

Hermione Granger had bushy brown hair, very large front teeth, and was already wearing her Hogwarts robes. Harry taught she looked exactly like someone who’d help people find their lost toads. In five years time she’d probably be a Prefect.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron said, lowering his wand again.

“Harry Potter.”

“Really?” Hermione replied, in that same excited tone that people always used when talking about Harry’s parents. “You’re Lily Potter’s son? I’ve read all about her, of course. She’s the first muggleborn witch to be awarded an Order of Merlin First Class, _and_ the first to have her research published in _The Potioneer_. And according to _Breakthroughs in Brewing_ she might be next in line for the Hogwarts Potions Professor position, once Professor Slughorn retires.”

This wasn’t _exactly_ what most people tended to bring up when gushing about Harry’s parents, but it was no more welcome a subject for him.

“Yeah, I know.” Harry put as much finality into his voice as he could muster.

Hermione blushed, and resolutely looked away.

“Well – Ron, was it?” she said, turning towards the red-haired boy. “It looked like you were about to do some magic, why don’t you go on?”

Now it was Ron’s turn to blush again.

“Er, yeah, sure…”

He raised his wand once more.

“Knife and fork and spoon and spork,  
Turn this corned beef into pork,” he yelled out, frantically flailing his wand arm around.

The corned beef stayed corned and beefy.

“That didn’t really sound like a real spell,” Hermione pointed out, before anyone else had time to say anything. “They’re usually Latinate, you know? I got myself a Latin-English dictionary as soon as I found out, of course. A spell to turn something into pork would include the word ‘suilla’ somehow, don’t you think? And in any case…”

Harry glanced at Ron, who, with his mouth slightly agape, didn’t look like he’d ever heard the word ‘Latinate’ before either.

“Yes, hrm, well,” Neville interrupted Hermione (who was still prattling on about learning all their school books by heart), “why don’t we sit down? You’re welcome to help me dig into that ridiculous mountain of candy that Harry’s gotten me.”

“I don’t think my parents would approve of all that candy – they’re dentists – but… oh, are those Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans?”

She picked up a funny grey bean that Ron and Harry had carefully left alone.

“What do you think this one is?” she asked.

“Well, you can never know with these things,” Harry said merrily. “You should try it!”

“It’s probably pepper,” Neville added, throwing Harry a reproachful look.

Hermione primly put the grey bean back down.

“Aw, Nev, you’re no fun,” Harry chided his friend.

Ron coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like he was trying to hide a snigger.

After that the four of them fell into a silence that was far more awkward than even the one between Harry and Ron before.

* * *

As the countryside outside the window turned to flowing fields to wild woods, Hermione was daring enough to try a few Bertie Bott’s beans after all, dentist parents and pepper threat none-withstanding. Then she turned to the Chocolate Frogs, and when she realised that there was _text_ to be found inside the frogs’ wrapping, she started chomping them down with almost frightening speed.

“Oh, look, I got Headmistress McGonagall!” she exclaimed, and then, “Wow, Newton Scamander!”, and “Hesper Starkey, I wonder who that is!”

Her excitement was infectious, and soon the boys joined her in eating frogs and swapping cards. In exchange for one of his Agrippa cards, Ron gave Harry the Minister Dumbledore he’d wanted since forever. And when Neville got Helga Hufflepuff _and_ Salazar Slytherin in two consecutive frogs Hermione asked them which House they thought they’d be in.

“I’ll be in Gryffindor,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

Hermione scrunched up her nose.

“Well, I used to think Gryffindor was the best, too,” she replied. “I mean, that’s Headmistress McGonagall’s House… but Ravenclaw sounds all right too. Good, even. Maybe better.”

Harry had the distinct feeling he was being insulted, but before he had time to say anything back Ron said,

“Everyone in my family’s in Gryffindor, so I have to be too.”

“Well, you can’t really know, can you,” Neville pointed out. “I mean, my Dad was in Gryffindor, but my Mum was in Hufflepuff, and I could go either way, I think…”

“Don’t be silly, Nev,” Harry interrupted. “Of _course_ we’ll be in Gryffindor together! Your mum’s plenty brave, it’s more like the Hat should have made her a Gryff too.”

Neville looked ready to retort, but before he could get a word out Hermione spoke again.

“ _Actually_ , according to _Hogwarts – A History_ the Sorting Hat has never been wrong,” she said, in an annoyingly bossy voice.

Harry snorted.

“Well, that’s an easy claim to make, it’s not like you could go back in time and check if someone would have done better in another House!”

“Wait a sec,” Ron broke in. “What’s a Sorting Hat?”

In the blink of an eye Hermione went from bristling to condescending.

“The Sorting Hat is the speaking hat that sorts students into Houses, of course,” she declared. “How can you not know this – I thought the Weasleys were an old wizarding family?”

“My parents like to keep these sorts of things a surprise,” Ron muttered, his ears pink.

“Well, how did you think people got placed into their Houses?” Hermione asked.

By now Ron’s face was flaming red.

“One of my brothers said something about fighting a troll…” His mumbling was almost inaudible now.

Laughing, Harry punched him on the arm. He was about to make some joke about sticking his wand up the troll’s nose, when he felt the train slow down.

“Well, you boys should probably change into your school robes,” Hermione pointed out. “I’ll wait outside the compartment; I can take Trevor for you, Neville.”

Neville practically _beamed_ at her, and Ron mimed puking behind his back. Now it was Harry’s turn to fake a coughing fit.

* * *

Soon the four of them, together with the rest of the first years, were stumbling along through the cold and dark night air behind the Hogwarts groundskeeper, a woman named Sylvestra Salvage. Then they got their first sight of Hogwarts, and everybody stopped dead.

“Aaaahh!” they all _gasped_ together.

The castle was everything Harry had ever imagined and more. Huge, sprawling with towers and turrets, its windows sparkling along with the Black Lake in the starlight. But Madam Salvage didn’t allow them to stand gaping at the castle for long. She waved them forward, and four by four they got into little rowboats that were waiting for them on the lakeside.

Without any need for rowing, the fleet of boats cut soundlessly through the still water. Everybody kept their eyes locked at the castle atop its mountain, until it went out of sight as the boats glided in between some cliffs to an underground harbour.

They climbed out of the boats, and before Harry quite knew how it’d happened, they were at a huge oak door. Madame Salvage waved her wand, and the door flew open.


	2. Chapter 7: The Sorting Hat

Inside the heavy oaken door was a _huge_ hall, so large that the Potter Cottage could easily have fit inside it. Harry had heard about the different rooms and halls of Hogwarts through all his life, but seeing the Entrance Hall up close was still overwhelming. Torches lit walls that stretched so high that the ceiling was impossible to see clearly, and a gigantic marble staircase led up almost as far.

Harry had just started to wonder why Madame Salvage wasn’t leading them into the hall when he heard a squeaky voice speak from somewhere close to the floor.

“Ah, Madame Salvage,” it said. “I’ll take the first-years from here. You go take your seat in the Great Hall.”

Harry looked down towards the voice, and saw a _very_ short wizard, who looked like he might have a goblin or two in his family tree. This had to be the Professor Flitwick that Harry’s mother always talked about as one of her favourite teachers.

“Thank you, Professor Flitwick,” replied Madame Salvage, confirming Harry’s suspicions.

The first-years followed Professor Flitwick over the flagstones of the Entrance Hall and into a small room right next to a large doorway, which, judging by the sound of loud murmurs coming through it, had to lead to the Great Hall.

When all the first-years had crammed together into the miniscule chamber, Professor Flitwick clapped his hands together delightedly.

“ _Welcome_ to Hogwarts!” he exclaimed. “Oh, you have such _wonderful_ years before you. I hope your time here at our beloved school will be something you’ll all look back to with fondness once you’re out in the world, accomplishing great things. But as our former Headmaster would put it, let’s not waste time on words when there’s a feast to be had! Very soon I’ll let you join the start-of-term banquet, but first you of course have to be sorted into your Hogwarts House in the Sorting Ceremony.

“There are four Hogwarts Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each has its good side and its… well! In any case, each house has its own dormitories and common room, and you’ll have all your classes with the other members of your house. There is also a House Cup that goes to the house with the most house points at the end of the year. You can earn house points for your house by answering questions right in class or other such accomplishments, and loose house points by breaking the rules.

“Now, that would be all, I think. Let me just pop into the Great Hall to see if they’re ready for us. While you wait, why don’t you make sure you look your best for the Ceremony?”

And with that the little man left the chamber.

* * *

Harry and the other first-years looked around at each other. Many of the others looked anxious, some downright terrified. Maybe they, just like Ron, had brothers who had told them they’d have to fight trolls.

“Why would I want to look good just to put on a stupid hat?” Harry heard Ron mumble beside him.

When Harry turned to him, he noticed that Ron’s nose still was a little dirty. So, apparently, did Hermione.

“Ron, there’s some dirt on your nose,” she said.

Ron made a face at her, but once she’d turned her back Harry saw him wipe at his nose with the arm of his robe. Neville, meanwhile, was tugging at the arms of _his_ robes, trying to get them even. Seeing all this effort at smarting up, Harry defiantly ruffled up his hair.

Then Professor Flitwick returned.

“We’re ready for you now,” he said sunnily. “Come, come, form a line. Yes, that’s good. Now, good luck everybody!”

The first-years scrambled together into a wonky line. Harry had Neville in front of him and Ron right behind. Together they stumbled back into the Entrance Hall and then in through the large double door that they’d passed before. The ball of nervousness and excitement was back in Harry’s stomach now, but as he laid eyes on the Great Hall of Hogwarts for the first time in his life, excitement won out and he gasped in amazement and wonder.

There were four long tables, set with plates and goblets made from pure gold, glittering in the light of thousands of candles, floating in mid-air. Seated at the tables was a sea of students, all wearing their pointy black hats. Harry took all that in with a quick glance, before he almost instinctively raised his head towards the ceiling. And it didn’t disappoint. A velvety blackness dotted with thousands – millions – of stars met his eyes, exactly like the night sky he’d seen just minutes ago as they’d walked up to the school. Just like his parents had said, it was like there was no ceiling at all. As Harry stared in awe, he heard Hermione mumble something about reading about the magicked ceiling in _Hogwarts: A History_. She seemed to be as big a fan of that book as Harry’s mother was. Maybe it came with being muggleborn.

Professor Flitwick led Harry and the other first-years up to the staff table podium, where they stopped, their line now even wonkier than it had been when they had began walking. Harry found himself looking out at hundreds of staring eyes, and with that, nervousness won out over excitement again. To divert himself Harry stared intently at Professor Flitwick, who was carrying out a four-legged stool. The little man almost toppled under its size, but in the end he managed to place it in front of the first-years. Then he disappeared again, and came back carrying a rather dirty and battered-looking wizard’s hat, which had to be the Sorting Hat. Harry had never imagined that it’d look so… insignificant. But then it did something that surprised Harry so much that he jumped onto Ron’s foot. The hat began to sing!

 _Ah! Hello, there, you bright young minds_  
_Here to wave your wands and learn_  
_You’ll have met hats of many kinds_  
_But none else that can discern_  
_Each little wish, and hope, and dream_  
_Hidden in heads and hearts_  
_‘Cause I alone – or so it’d seem –_  
_Can look into those parts_  
_And there I’ll see the values that_  
_You prize above the rest_  
_And – unlike any other hat –_  
_I’ll know what house you fit the best:_  
_Gryffindors wear red and gold_  
_For them bravery reigns supreme_  
_They prove themselves by being bold_  
_And chivalry’s their dream_  
_Hufflepuffs in black and yellow_  
_Value loyalty and fair play_  
_And, though you may think them mellow,_  
_Their hard work oft’ wins the day_  
_Ravenclaws of bronze and blue_  
_Cultivate wisdom and wit_  
_So if learning things is what you do_  
_This house is your best fit_  
_Slytherins; silver and green_  
_Praise cunning and ambition_  
_And happily use any mean_  
_For their plans to reach fruition_  
_So come on up, and do not fear;_  
_You’re safe within my folds_  
_And I’ll tell all who want to hear_  
_What house your future holds!_

When the hat stopped singing everybody started applauding. Harry joined in once his surprise had settled down a little. It seemed that the Weasleys weren’t the only wizarding family that kept some secrets for their children to discover for their own at Hogwarts. None of the adults in Harry’s life had ever told him that the Sorting Hat would _sing_. His parents and their friends must have taken great joy in keeping this little fact from his sister and him.

Once the applause died down, Professor Flitwick appeared for a third time, now carrying a roll of parchment that was longer than he himself was tall.

“Here I have a list of all the first-years to be sorted,” he announced. “When your name is called, please take a seat on the stool and put the hat on your head.”

Harry watched as the first of the first years – a Hannah Abbott – let the hat fall down over her blonde pigtails, and swallowed. It wasn’t that he was _worried_ or anything. He knew where he wanted to go, and what he wanted to do. He’d be a brave Gryffindor, and one day he wouldn’t just be known as the child of two heroes, but as a hero in his own right. It was just… what if the hat didn’t find him worthy?

A few sortings after Hannah Abbott went to Hufflepuff, Harry was awakened from his gloomy thoughts by the calling of a name he recognised.

“Bones, Susan!”

Susan wasn’t a close friend, but they’d met a few times through their parents, and Harry liked her. Now he watched her reddish blonde locks bounce past as she almost ran towards the stool and pulled the Sorting Hat down over her head.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

No surprises there. The Boneses were almost always Hufflepuffs. Susan looked equal parts happy and relieved as she scuttled down to take a seat next to the Abbott girl at the applauding Hufflepuff table. Harry saw Neville give her a little wave, and did the same.

First-year after first-year went up to the stool, put on the hat, and was sorted. There was a Brown, a Crabbe, an Ellsworth, two Fawcetts, a Gadhavi… Sometimes the sorting went quickly, the hat barely touching the head before it yelled out its verdict. Other times it deliberated for several minutes. Then Flitwick called for,

“Granger, Hermione!”

Harry felt both Ron and Neville tense up, on each side of him in the queue. And as minute after minute passed without the hat giving a pronouncement, Harry grew quite tense himself. Hermione was, after all, the first of the people from their train compartment to be sorted, and if she went to Gryffindor he’d have to live with her – and Neville’s certain crush-to-be on her – for the next seven years.

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat shouted at last.

Neville groaned, Ron gave a relieved sigh, and Harry relaxed. He wasn’t sure why such a Miss Know-It-All as her had wanted to be in Gryffindor in the first place. Ravenclaw was clearly where she belonged. Now Harry’s only real worry was that Neville really would end up in Hufflepuff like his Mum. And then, sooner than what seemed reasonable, Neville’s name was called. Harry clasped his arm as a ‘good luck’, and felt him shake with nervousness. He even stumbled a little on his way to the stool.

The hat took an agonisingly long time to decide where to put Neville. Harry’s fingernails bit into his palms as he thought ‘Come on, come on, Gryffindor, Gryffindor…’

And then…

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

For a moment Neville just sat there, the Sorting Hat still on his head as thunderous applause broke out from the Hufflepuff table. Then, seemingly in a daze, he took the hat off and started walking towards his new housemates, who shook his hands and beamed at him. Susan even jumped up and hugged him when he got to her. Harry watched his best friend take a seat the table of the house known for its loyalty, and he felt betrayed.

The rest of the sorting went by in a haze, until Harry’s own name was called. In fact, Harry was so lost in his thoughts that Professor Flitwick had to call his name twice.

“I said, Potter, Harry!”

“Oh, him? I mean, me? Right.”

Harry could hear Ron, and maybe some others too, giggle, as he walked towards the Sorting Hat. He ignored it. And then everything was the velvety blackness of the inside of the hat.

‘Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor…’ he thought, more nervous now than he’d thought he’d be.

“Gryffindor, eh?” a small voice said in his ear. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be so quick to decide. There’s plenty of ways this could go, in fact.”

Harry didn’t like the sound of that. “But both my parents were in Gryffindor,” he replied, unconsciously speaking aloud. “And my grandparents!”

“Ah, yes, indeed. And how do you feel about that?”

“Er… what do you mean?”

“Wouldn’t you like to make your own way, set yourself apart from your family?”

“Can’t I do that in Gryffindor?”

“I guess you _could_ … There’s plenty of courage here, I’m not denying that. A decent mind, too, a sense of justice… loads of ambition. You’re quite well rounded, I say. But what’d _really_ help you on the way to greatness… is Slytherin.”

“Slytherin!?”

“Oh, yes.”

“But that’s Voldemort’s house! And the house Sirius wanted to avoid!”

“Sirius? As in Sirius Black?”

“Yeah. He’s my godfather.”

“I see… yes, I remember sorting him. He, too, wanted to make his own way. For him, that meant Gryffindor, but for you… well, never mind. If you’re so sure of where you want to be, then I better just go ahead and…”

“Wait!”

Harry didn’t know what’d come over him. He’d just _stopped_ the hat from putting him in Gryffindor, the house he’d dreamed about being in since he first learned about Hogwarts.

“Mhm?” the soft voice of the hat murmured. It sounded amused.

“If… if you really think Slytherin is what will help me be the best I can be, then…”

“…then we better put you in SLYTHERIN!”

The last word was shouted for the whole school to hear.

Harry took off the hat to a silence as stunned as he was himself. A moment passed. Then the Slytherin table broke into an even more thunderous applause than the one the Hufflepuffs had given Neville. As Harry walked – a bit shakily – towards the Slytherin table, he caught Neville’s eye. They shrugged at each other. The two of them wouldn’t get to share a dormitory in the Gryffindor tower after all, but Harry knew that they’d still be best friends.

Harry found an empty seat next to the only person he really recognised at the Slytherin table, a boy with a pale, pointed face.

“Hello, Malfoy,” he said. “Can I sit here?”

Malfoy gave him a sullen look from under his white-blonde bangs.

“Potter,” he said with a curt nod. “Sure, be my guest.”

Harry sat down, and gave the other boy a sideways glance. Draco Malfoy was Harry’s godfather’s first cousin once removed (or something like that), and his father was serving a life sentence in Azkaban for his actions as a Death Eater during the war. His mother, Narcissa Malfoy, had gone free, though, and after the War she’d reconciled with her estranged family members, which had brought her and her son into the Potters’ acquaintance. Harry had always felt a bit wary around Draco, but now that they were in the same house he supposed he’d have to try to befriend him. Maybe not right at this moment, though.

Harry let his eyes wander to the High Table, where the staff was seated, but he took care to avoid the eyes of the Headmistress in her golden chair. He didn’t care to see what Minerva McGonagall thought about him being sorted into Slytherin. Instead, he accidentally caught the eyes of a bald man with a huge silvery moustache, dressed in velvet robes. This had to be Professor Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin House. It was all too clear what _he_ thought about Harry’s sorting; his jovial smile was so wide that it threatened to split his face apart, and he was positively _bouncing_ in his chair. Harry had heard a lot about Slughorn growing up, but his parents had made sure that neither he nor Marlene ever met the man, saying something about ‘keeping you out of his sugary clutches’. Harry supposed he was in those very clutches now.

The sorting went on for quite some time, but then, at last, Professor Flitwick called for,

“Weasley, Ronald!”

Harry craned his neck to see his new friend. Ron was pale as a sheet under his freckles, and his legs seemed to shiver as he walked towards the hat on the stool. But he needn’t have worried; the hat barely touched his head before it shouted,

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry raised his hands to start applauding, but stopped himself at the last second. To his left he heard Malfoy snicker. Harry ignored him, and with a sting of jealousy he watched as Ron walked to the Gryffindor table, and was greeted by a group of red-haired boys who had to be his brothers. For a mad second Harry had an impulse to get up and join them, but he bit into the inside of his cheeks and pressed it down.

As ‘Westenberg, Felicia’ and ‘Zabini, Blaise’ (Hufflepuff and Slytherin, respectively) were sorted, Harry realised that this was it; their little gang of four from the Hogwarts Express had ended up one in each house. He wondered what this would mean for the future. He and Nev would still be best mates, of course, and he hoped that Ron would want to keep up their new friendship too. As for Hermione, Harry supposed that he’d be stuck with her no matter what, as smitten as Neville was with her already. Maybe the four of them would become some sort of All-Hogwarts Marauders, poster children for inter-house friendship? Harry smiled as he imagined all the trouble a four-house gang could get themselves into. They'd have to corrupt Hermione first, of course...

In the present, Professor Flitwick, with help from Madame Salvage, put the Sorting Hat and its stool away, and the Headmistress rose to speak.

“Welcome, students new and old!” said Professor McGonagall, looking out over the Hall.

With her tall stature, tight bun of black hair, and strict grey robes she looked very commanding, almost frightening. And yet Harry couldn’t help thinking of her as ‘Auntie Minnie’, the prim but kind witch who always snuck him and his sister biscuits when she visited the Potters’ Cottage, and entertained them by turning into a cat. Lost in these thoughts Harry seemed to have missed most of what Professor McGonagall had said, judging by the applause that had just started around him.

Maybe that was just as well, because he was far too hungry to listen intently anyway. Just as that thought crossed his mind, the dishes in front of him on the table instantly filled with piles of all kinds of banquet food. He filled his golden plate with lamb chops, roast potatoes, carrots, and Yorkshire pudding, and dug in. All around him the other Slytherin students were wolfing down their food with the same gusto. They were all too hungry to really talk, until halfway through their second serving, when an older girl turned to the first-years to introduce herself.

“Hello there, younglings,” she said. “I’m Gemma Farley, one of the Slytherin Prefects. First of all I want to congratulate you for getting into the _coolest_ of the Hogwarts houses! I see many faces here that I recognise, and some that I do not, but you should know that you’re _all_ just as welcome to the Slytherin brotherhood. Or ‘siblinghood’, I guess might be a better word… Anyway. There are many rumours and misconceptions about our distinguished house, and I’ve always found that the best way to dispel them is to get to know each other and see the breadth of Slytherin excellence. So I’d suggest you tell each other a bit about yourselves.”

After a short silence a girl with golden brown hair plucked up her courage, and spoke.

“Well, I’m Daphne Greengrass,” she said. “My parents are both potioneers, and my younger sister wants to be one too, but I’d rather work at the Ministry.”

“I’d like to work at the Ministry too,” someone else said, and then the conversation really got going.

Thus, Harry learned the names and dreams of the other Slytherin first-years. Well, most of them. When the turn came to Draco Malfoy, he only mumbled something half-audible about potions and healing, and Blaise Zabini only deigned them with his name before he went back to only speaking to Theodore Nott. Then the turn came for Harry to introduce himself, even though everybody clearly had to know who he was already. He was afraid they’d laugh at him if he said he wanted to become a ‘hero’, so he said ‘Auror’ instead. (The two amounted to pretty much the same thing in his mind anyway.)

Once they’d all introduced themselves – and dessert had arrived with the loveliest treacle tart Harry had ever tasted – the subject turned to their families. Harry was surprised by the amount of other kids who had a Muggle or Muggleborn parent. None of them were Muggleborn themselves, though, and many were, unsurprisingly, from old pureblood families. Harry spent most of the rest of the feast talking to one of the purebloods, a girl named Pansy Parkinson. It wasn’t really that he _wanted_ to talk to her – he wasn’t even sure he liked her much at all – it was just that every time he tried to talk to anyone else, she interrupted them and brought the conversation back to herself again. This was a bit worrisome, as she’d announced her life’s ambition as ‘becoming a trophy wife’ when she introduced herself to the others, and Harry wasn’t quite sure whether she’d been joking or not.

When the Headmistress rose to give her second speech Harry took it as a welcome respite from talking to Pansy. The speech itself was not that enjoyable, though. It was mostly about school rules, and made it seem like anything even remotely fun was forbidden. Good thing Harry had his father’s old invisibility cloak, to help him get away with breaking a rule or two.

* * *

When Professor McGonagall – who Harry was starting to like a lot less than ‘Auntie Minnie’ – finished her speech, Harry and the other Slytherin first-years followed their Prefects down to the dungeons. Harry was way too sleepy and full of food to remember the way they took through hidden doorways and moving staircases, but that would have to be a problem for another day. Half asleep, Harry heard Gemma-the-Prefect give the password ‘Parseltongue’ to a damp piece of stone wall. When he realised that he was about to enter his new common room for the first time, however, he was suddenly wide awake.

The room was nothing like what Harry heard about the Gryffindor common room. Instead of round and tall, this room was long and low, with regal-looking carved chairs instead of cushy armchairs, and windows that looked out, not over the forbidden forest and the Quidditch pitch, but into what had to be the Black Lake.

“Isn’t it _cool_?” Gemma asked. “We like to think of this place as our very own underwater ship wreck.”

Harry had to admit that it was pretty cool, if not as homey as he might have preferred. He felt a little jealous of Neville, who, from what Harry had heard, would likely have entered the cosiest common room of them all by now. Still, Harry would have plenty of time to get used to this room. Seven years, in fact.

‘Oh Merlin,’ Harry thought as he walked up some stairs to a dormitory labelled 'First-Year Boys'. ‘What have I gotten myself into?’

How would he tell his parents that he was a Slytherin!? He thought he’d lie awake in his four-poster bed worrying about that for half the night, but instead he started drifting off as soon as he lay down beneath the silver-embroidered bedspread, lulled to sleep by the soft lapping of waves against the window. And he slept soundly the whole night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the AU Challenge this was written for the prompts "James and Lily lives" and "Slytherin Harry".


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